


Professionalism, Or Lack Thereof

by Greyhound



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Clothed Sex, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Dry Humping, Facials, Groping, Kink Meme, M/M, Masturbation, Recreational Drug Use, Shooting Guns, Smoking, Violence, Voyeurism, Wall Sex, and it's not talked about beforehand, but the party doing the groping is high, idk there's a bar fight and also a scuffle during a bad situation later on lol, intense sexual mutual pining, it's NOT noncon/dubcon and both parties are very into it, just in case that's not anyone's jam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:33:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29647896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greyhound/pseuds/Greyhound
Summary: Achilles is employed to keep an eye on Zagreus, rich son of some CEO, whilst he enjoys a year free to do as he wishes. Lo and behold the job is not as easy as he was expecting, and Zagreus is far more appealing than he was expecting.Kink meme fill.
Relationships: Achilles/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 89
Collections: Hades Kink Meme





	Professionalism, Or Lack Thereof

**Author's Note:**

> hello new fandom i bring you whatever this is. this initially started as a "hey this will be fun to derust with!" project, and then it went off the rails lmao

Maybe Achilles _can_ persuade himself to spend 10 minutes to himself. 

Upon stepping out onto the balcony he is immediately met with the cool morning breeze, the sounds of the inner city a whisper upon the winds against the thrumming words in his mind. Somewhere, deep down, he knows this is going to backfire in the most spectacular fashion. Achilles is going to regret this. 

And yet, the promise of relief spoken by the metallic click of his lighter as he flicks it on and cups a hand around the cigarette hanging from his lips is simply too much to resist, even for him. 

That first drag seems to bleed through his flesh, through his bones, his muscles unfurling as he slumps to rest his forearms against the railing. For this short snatch of time, he gets to exhale his stress along with the acrid smoke, brain and body melting. The cool wind pleasantly tousles his hay coloured curls as he indulges in lungfuls of peace, and he could swear it was the first time since he took on this job that he’d relaxed. Usually he spends rare stints by himself like this thinking, turning things over in his mind, often to the point of stress - but for once his mind is blissfully clear. It’s nice. 

He gets away with one more drag before his tentative reverie is disturbed by a sound from somewhere below which makes him run cold. 

Achilles knows that purr anywhere. 

_That’s his fucking motorbike._

Eyes shooting wide, Achilles fights the cough which bubbles up from his throat in surprise, attempting to vacate his lungs of smoke so he can-- gasp, shout, swear, _something_. Yet as his eyes focus on the shape zipping along the street several storeys below - sure enough, that’s his motorcycle being piloted by an all too familiar figure - his shock is quickly lulled into something that’s half grim acceptance and half frustration. 

Setting his jaw, Achilles abandons the rest of his cigarette to the street below, one hand coming up to rake through his hair, and turns to make his way back inside. 

How on earth he’s going to track Zagreus down with no transport to call his own is completely beyond him.

-

He really should be used to things happening that make his blood run cold by now but the sense of dread he’s struck by when he sees _that_ caller ID is borderline completely overwhelming. 

This could be it, this could be the time he has his livelihood ripped away and his reputation ruined beyond repair. And more importantly, he could lose the hope he’s finally scored after years upon years of grim acceptance. 

Achilles accepts the call with a casual air he does not feel entitled to. 

“Sir,” he greets simply, voice artificially level and free of inflection as he braces himself. 

“Achilles,” Hades replies, and _oh_ the barely restrained rage within his voice makes Achilles tense ever further where he’s already sat as rigid as one can be on such a luxurious loveseat. He doesn’t bother responding; he knows roughly what’s coming. “I hope you can explain the… _Damaging_ photographs circulating of my son engaging in various illicit activities.”

Suppressing whatever his base response to this would be comes so naturally he’s not even entirely what he would’ve wanted to do. Huff a sigh? Groan? Click his tongue.  
“Apologies, sir. He made off on my motorcycle. Snuck the keys and scarpered out of the door right under my nose; you know what the lad’s like,” Achilles offers, knowing exactly what’s coming next. 

“I’m not sure how long my suggestion of you getting rid of that blasted bike is going to stay a suggestion. I’ve ensured you have one of my drivers at my disposal. You don’t need it and it’s more trouble than it’s worth, surely.” Yup. Like clockwork.

“With all due respect, I simply like to be self-sufficient. I’ll be sure to double down on my efforts to keep my keys on my person, however.”

“It’s not just about the boy stealing your bike and you know it. Even with the bike gone you didn’t call upon my driver and instead _chose_ to make your own way,” Hades spits, voice rich and dangerous with a burning venom. He’s not a stupid man, nowhere near at all; he’s got to be at least somewhat aware of the fact it’s born out of (mostly) self preservation. If Achilles calls upon one of Hades’ other lackeys, he knows that Zagreus has slipped out from under him, whereas by ferrying himself about there’s a chance he’ll successfully keep his failings off of Hades’ radar, and himself securely in this job.

At this point Achilles banks most of his existence on the fact Hades won’t flat out _accuse_ him. 

He remains silent. 

“Thanks to your failings I now have to try and scrape photos of my only son gambling away the company fortune on dog races and snorting who knows what kind of illegal substance off of a filthy table out of the public eye. You _are_ aware of the kind of harm imagery like this could do to my reputation?” Hades practically snarls, and Achilles finds himself nodding modestly out of habit. 

“Indeed. I’ll ensure he doesn’t make a habit of it.” Hah. As if Zagreus wasn’t already making a break for matinee races at the stadium frequently enough that Achilles knows that’s where he’s headed the second he books it that early in the morning. 

“That’s a promise you sorely want to keep,” Hades grits out, and then there’s the click as he hangs up. 

Achilles goes slack, slumping back with the mental exertion. If only Zagreus weren’t so fucking difficult and would cooperate for once in his _fucking_ life-

-

On the upside, Zagreus is at home and (currently) doesn’t seem to have any intentions to book it out of there for once. 

On the downside, Achilles still can’t relax over the sounds of the lad being absolutely _ravaged_. 

(There’s also the matter of how on earth Zagreus managed to slip his current bedfellow into their penthouse suite whilst Achilles was in the living room the entire damn time, but his mind is too otherwise occupied to really try and work that one out right now.)

“O-oh, fuck, yes, please, _more-!_ ” A litany of filth cascades from Zagreus’ mouth, so loud Achilles can make out every inch of desire scratched into his voice despite the walls between them. Something about the sheer volume made Achilles want to squirm; whilst Zagreus seemed to live his life waiting for any opportunity which came his way to sneak away and engage in acts of ridiculous hedony, he wasn’t exactly a difficult person. 

There was one occasion, not even all that long after they’d first met, where Achilles had come in from a (very quick) grocery run to find Zagreus in the midst of a tryst on the couch, bouncing, still mostly clothed, in the lap of some guy Achilles had never seen. He’d assumed that the immediate and startled reaction and ensuing shame was just your common or garden reaction to being caught in the act, but the following day (having spent the rest of the afternoon into that evening sulking in his room) Zagreus approached him with the express intention of apologising in case he’d made Achilles uncomfortable with his little stunt, not expecting him to return so soon, and vowed to be more discrete with his encounters.

Sure enough, he’d been true to his word. Yeah, he’d still invite people over, but he’d only fuck them in the privacy of his room, and Achilles presumes Zagreus must consciously hold his voice down, a thought which twists like a knife in his gut. Zagreus is charitable in even the most surprising ways, is the thought process that Achilles _would_ be chained into, if his brain hadn’t taken this in a totally different direction against his will. 

Gods, Zagreus must be getting fucked absolutely _brainless_. 

He doesn’t want to think about this, doesn’t want to picture his charge being railed beyond belief, but Zagreus won’t stop warbling long messes of “please” and “god” and “yes” and “more” and every curse word he can wrap his lips around. A picture paints a thousand words, and Zagreus’ rapt cries paint a thousand pictures. 

Achilles should put down the book he’s ignoring, should flip the TV on to some trite show and turn the sound up and disengage to some audiovisual junk food, should busy himself digging out a pair of the earplugs he has to use whilst practicing at the shooting range, should do something, _anything_. Hell he even has the best excuse of his life to slip out for a smoke, and yet-

It’s as though he’s spellbound. All he can make himself do is lean his head back against the headrest of the couch behind him with a pained huff. Ridiculous.

He’s not above admitting to himself that Zagreus is as pretty as he sounds, so it’s unsurprising he gets the attention he does. At first he’s not sure whether it’s a blessing or not that he has no clue what the person currently fucking the brains out of Zagreus looks like, because hey at least that means Achilles can’t straight up picture them together, but _oh no_ he can still picture Zagreus in a hundred and one lewd positions to match up with the way he’s literally begging for it, and _oh no some part of him finds it far too easy to insert himself as the person at who’s whim Zagreus is at mercy to, and-_

Nope. He is _not_ going there. Achilles is not going to fantasize about the lad like that. Absolutely not. No matter what he’s currently hearing. 

And yet Achilles still can’t will himself to move, right down to the book still presented as a dead weight in his hands. Zagreus is practically incoherent at this point, words swapped for choked out syllables, all wrapped in that same pleading tone. He doesn’t _want_ to wonder whether Zagreus is splayed out on his back, or hunched over in someone’s lap like that time he walked in, or belly down with his ass in the air and his face pressed to the pillow, thighs quivering with desire, he really doesn’t. 

(It’s probably not that latter one, actually. With how clear his voice is there’s no way it’s being muffled by a pillow or his sheets or-)

Fuck. 

Fortunately for Achilles, the torture doesn’t go on much longer; Zagreus’ voice crescendos with a loud cry - no words, no anything, but he’s almost fucking _screaming_ \- and just like that the spell is lifted, Achilles scrambling to his feet with a jolt. He makes a break for the coat rack, hand fumbling for the box in his inner pocket before he’s even got it all the way on. He doesn’t know about Zagreus, but gods does he need a smoke after that. 

-

“Zagreus, I have a favour to ask of you, if you wouldn’t mind.” 

Zagreus is rummaging through the refrigerator for a snack when Achilles speaks up, and he casts his glance back over his shoulder to where Achilles is sitting at the breakfast bar checking his emails, trying to gauge what kind of request is possibly about to come out of his bodyguard’s mouth. The typical world-weary look on Achilles’ face gives him absolutely no ideas, so he settles for asking. 

“Of course, what do you need?” Zagreus asks, turning his attention back to the tub of yoghurt he’d been sizing up, before adding “Unless it’s for me to stop doing… What I do. That’s a no-go, I’m afraid.” That scores a little chuckle from Achilles, and Zagreus doesn’t need to see him to know the way his eyes crinkle just so. 

“I’m well aware. If it worked, I’d have asked a long time ago. No, I was wondering - could I ask you to at least carry a firearm?” The laugh that paints Achilles’ voice at first peters out into a voice of concern, and Zagreus sucks a breath in between his teeth as he clicks the fridge shut, yoghurt a prize in hand. 

“Ah. See, I would, but I was never taught how to shoot,” He admits as he plunders the silverware drawer for an appropriate spoon, before turning around with his prizes and sliding the drawer shut with his hip. Achilles has the gall to look surprised, and Zagreus isn’t sure he likes how it sits upon his features. 

“Your father never thought to teach you how to shoot?” Achilles clarifies, and Zagreus can’t help but feel a little sour at the mention of _him_.

“Why is that surprising to you? You know firsthand how he just… Dumps me off on people so he doesn’t have to bother with me,” Zagreus grits out, plopping the tub of yoghurt down on the bar with a little more force than was strictly necessary, not meeting Achilles’ gaze when he hums in soft agreement. 

“Apologies lad, I didn’t mean to upset you. I just thought it seemed like common sense, even from your father’s cynical point of view, to teach the sole heir to his precious company to defend himself.” There’s a cold bite Achilles can’t keep out of his intonation, and it makes Zagreus blink for a second too long. Still, even now, Achilles would do this, do little things that were surprising in the way they were entirely more personable than any other bodyguard he’s ever been assigned. Taking advantage of Zagreus’ mildly stunned silence, Achilles quickly added, “I should probably teach you. It is my job to keep you out of harm’s way, after all.”

“That could be a shout.”

-

“You’ve got the grip on the gun itself down pat, but you still need to slacken your arms, lad. If you lock them like that, you aren’t going to be able to cushion the recoil.”

Zagreus huffs, furrowing his brow, letting his arms fall a little, his second hand slipping off the handgun. “I know, I’m sorry. I just can’t seem to get myself to relax.” 

A shot goes off from someone elsewhere on the range, and Achilles doesn’t miss the startle Zagreus tries to stifle. 

“Here, let me show you. It’s natural not to be able to relax at first, mind. It’s all very odd at first,” Achilles muses, stepping in closer to Zagreus, but stopping before he could actually come into contact with him. “Mind if I move your hands? You’re having trouble copying me, so I thought this might work out better.” 

“Oh, er, sure! Of course,” Zagreus affirmed, and Achilles stepped fully into his space. A half formed thought about how he’s so close he can feel Zagreus’ body heat floats around within his brain, and his eyes traitorously pick that exact moment to drag over a dark blotch on the side of his neck. Gods, if he focused in he could make out the darker imprints of teeth marks in a crude ring around the outside of the bruise. 

Zagreus marks so _beautifully_. 

Hopefully he doesn’t think too much of the way Achilles hesitates before he leans in, back to his chest as he reaches in. Having him so close is an experience; Zagreus isn’t actually all that much shorter than him and is still of an undoubtedly athletic build, but he’s still basically buried beneath Achilles’ breadth. 

Zagreus’ arms remain hanging limp in front of him, and instead of doing the sensible thing and verbally asking him to raise them, Achilles finds himself leaning in closer, hands skirting over Zagreus’ forearms as he shoots for his wrists.  
“Raise your hands up again,” He says as almost an afterthought, and it feels lame. 

“Right,” Comes the reply as Zagreus complies, voice even and determined. He wraps his left hand back around the grip of the gun, resting his fingers in the grooves of the fingers of his right hand (“good for ensuring a tight grip”, Achilles had told him), before raising his arms, practically pressing his wrists into Achilles’ palms. 

He can feel how the muscles in Zagreus’ back pull taut against his chest as he easily maneuvers him into position, and gods this is going to haunt him for the rest of his fucking life. 

“You’re going to have to help me with this one, I can’t line the sights up for you,” Achilles explains, and then Zagreus tenses a little, moves his arms for himself. Feeling how Zagreus goes to outstretch his arms, he steels his grip and easily pulls his hands back, adding, “Don’t reach out all the way again. You want this bend in your arms.” 

“I shouldn’t be surprised that they got this wrong on the TV,” Zagreus huffs out in a half laugh, and then - “Okay! I got them lined up. Like this?” 

Gently Achilles lets go of Zagreus’ wrists and steps away, circling round to observe him. “That looks about right. Your lower body is still tense, but you don’t need to focus on lower body positioning so much. Give firing it a go, lad.”

Lo and behold, he does, pulling the trigger. It’s undoubtedly clumsy, with him unconsciously jerking the gun down so as to miss his target, but it was at least in the right general direction. 

“There you go!” 

“But I missed.” 

Achilles shakes his head, rounding back in on him and holding a hand over to him. 

“That was your first shot, give it a little time. If you hand it over, I have a few things to show you.” Warm gunmetal is pressed into his grasp, and with a practiced hand Achilles discharges the magazine, clicking things back into place before beckoning Zagreus closer and handing the gun back to him. “You want to get a feel for where the wall on the trigger is, as well as the force needed to click over it. The last thing you want is for your own gun to be going off to be a surprise; you need to know exactly when it’ll fire.” 

“Right, that makes sense,” Zagreus affirms. Once more he clasps both hands around the weapon, holding it out - at first instinctively too tense, and then gradually sinking back into the position Achilles showed him - before dry firing. Once, twice, three times; finger at slightly different points on the trigger, attention entirely trained on feeling it out. The focus is plainly visible on Zagreus’ face. It’s not an uncommon look for him - for such a hedonistic lad, Zagreus earnestly tries so hard at new things. 

It’s also kind of attractive. 

“If you load it like I showed you earlier, I’ll show you the other thing.”

“Got it, sir.” Zagreus turns his attention to fishing a magazine out of his pocket, before methodically following through the motions of loading it - _slide back, mag release, mag in, slide forward_ \- and looking rather proud of himself for getting through it without a hitch. 

Achilles doesn’t ask for permission before he touches Zagreus this time, instead noting the way the lad easily leant into him once more, back pressed ever so slightly against his chest, those wrists once again presented directly into his hands. 

Oh yeah, this is definitely going to _haunt_ him. 

“Before you pressed the trigger, you were anticipating the recoil, and instinctively tugged the gun downwards just a little to try and counteract that. Not technically incorrect, but you need to do that after pulling the trigger, not before,” Achilles explains, and _fuck_ he’s so close he can _feel_ the affirmative hum Zagreus gives, buzzing through his back and against his chest. It’s good.

“So I need to do that afterwards?”

“Exactly. Give it a go.”

And he does, he tries, he really does, but everything in Zagreus’ brain tells him to jerk his hands down before, not after. One, two, three shots are lost, and then he grumbles to himself, “Gods, that’s tricky.” 

“It’s alright, all in due practice. Let me see if I can show you,” Achilles offers, hands sliding a little further up Zagreus’ wrists to his hands and then holding them in a firmer grip than he was using before. 

He tries not to ascribe any meaning to the gasp Zagreus lets out before trying to disguise it as him clearing his throat. 

“Just pull the trigger, and I’ll lead your hands,” He explains. And so Zagreus obeys, so easily, and Achilles shows him the motions he’s so practiced at - hands held straight as the trigger is clicked before ducking the gun just so, easily swallowing the recoil in the motion. 

Once, twice, three times, and Achilles swears the shapes of those wrists are burnt into his memory to be recalled during only his most regret filled moments.

-

This particular shithole happened to be one of Zagreus’ favourite spots, and Achilles had a distinct hunch tonight. 

He passes the bouncer his ID, his cash, and a particularly weary look before he’s granted access, passing around the corner and into a dank smelling lounge, dimly lit and populated by a few folks doing things he’d rather not take a closer gander at. The way he scans the room is more out of habit than anything; he knew full well Zagreus wouldn’t be here. Far too boring in here for the ceaseless lad - no, he’d be down in the basement, and Achilles’ feet are taking him in the direction of the staircase down there out of practice.

Achilles’ shoes stick to the steps as he descends, and he thinks loosely about how once he’d have felt right at home here.

Down here, neon streams directly into Achilles’ eyes in a garish fashion, and he blinks to try and accustom his eyes to the blacklight shine and the neon signs. There’s something to be said about the glowing grime on the shoddy concrete of the floor, or at least as much of it as he can make out between the far higher density of bodies down here, but the words don’t materialise. 

Fortunately for Achilles, Zagreus cuts a distinctive silhouette with his wild hair and broad shoulders, and it doesn’t take him long to pick him out of the crowd. It’s an immediate relief and Achilles feels his arms and fists untense from where he’s unconsciously curled them.

Then Zagreus makes for the bar with the figure who’s had his arms curled around the lad’s waist all evening, and maybe Achilles untensed a little too early. 

Words he can’t hear from there are mouthed to the bartender, two drinks are passed back to Zagreus and his partner for the night, and then the guy’s hand hovers a smidge too long over the top of one of the glasses before he passes it to Zagreus, and then Achilles is _moving_. He dips through the crowd with a practiced ease and a delicate urgency, paying no heed to the brush of others within the crowd. 

As he lurches out next to them, Zagreus visibly startles with the drink half raised, eyes shooting wide. Not expecting to be found quite so quickly in their perpetual game of long-form cat and mouse.  
“Don’t drink that,” Achilles tells him, short and sharp. He doesn’t have time to gauge Zagreus’ reaction any further than that, though, because there’s fingers digging into his arm, because of course there are. 

“Are you accusing me of something?” Zagreus’ companion growls at him, digging in his nails a little tighter, imperceptibly pulling Achilles into him. 

“I’m just doing my job. I suggest you let us be on our way now,” Achilles replies in that unflappable way, taking a step away against the pull of the other man’s grip. Besides him, he can hear the click as Zagreus sets his glass down on the bar, hovering uncertainty. Zagreus wants to do something, anything, but he doesn’t know how to deescalate the situation. The weight of his handgun in the inner pocket of his leather jacket feels like a god given blessing right now.

“Mate, what are you? His pimp? His sugar daddy? Go fuck yourself,” The man snarls, curling his fingers harder, nails digging little crescent moons into the bare skin of Achilles’ forearm. 

Irritation flicks heavy in Zagreus’ mind and he steps toward the man he had formerly been making eyes at all evening with a sharp “hey”, but before he can say any more Achilles’ free arm collides with his chest, thrown out at him in a protective gesture. 

“Gladly. Let me go.” All of the patience he’s used to hearing in Achilles’ tone is gone, replaced with an unfamiliar hardness, and gods Zagreus knows he’s just doing his job but something about it makes him itch. The arm used to halt Zagreus is pulled forward, Achilles’ hand coming to wrap around his assailant’s thumb upon his arm, and apparently that’s the match which lights a very short fuse. 

A hand clutching a glass is swung haphazardly in the direction of Achilles’ head, missing as Achilles bowls forward and rips back the digit in his hand. His opponent yowls and finally releases Achilles’ arm but it’s not much of an advantage as the forearm he’d swung collides with Achilles’ ear, a disorienting force which knocks him off guard. The sound of the glass shattering on the concrete is swallowed by the ringing in Achilles’ ear as he stumbles a few steps. 

Fucker. 

It’s not over yet, of course it’s not - his attacker lurches forward once more, attempting to make use of Achilles’ disorientation, but it’s the oldest trick in the book and Achilles easily meets him with a blow to the jaw. Sparing a glance over at Zagreus with the recoil of his punch, he notes how the man has sunk back a little but is practically twitching to do _something_ , can see the way his fingers debate on retrieving the weapon he’s got concealed. 

Gods, he prays Zagreus doesn’t act upon whatever impulse lights up his mind. 

His assailant is yelling, maybe words, maybe not, but that’s of no concern to Achilles as he is lunged at, a hand reaching up for his hair. What a stupid move, some part of Achilles thinks, consciously overturning the panic as his curls are fisted, suppressing the urge to yank away, in favour of leveraging the closeness to blindly strike out at his face. This bastard doesn’t let go in his shock, however, instead dragging Achilles forward as he trips backward, grip only tightening on Achilles’ hair. 

Achilles grits out a noise of shock as he’s pulled forward, knees colliding with flesh and concrete over his attacker’s sprawling body, the only sign of mild panic spilling over the edge. Once again he slams the flat of his arm down over the man’s face, the tips of his fingers coming to dig into the soft flesh of his eyes and cheeks and whatever else he can claw at; the last thing he wants is for him to make use of the angle and headbutt him. The buzz of the crowd that’s formed is secondary to the roar in his ears and the way the other man screams out, both hands coming to frantically scrabble at Achilles’ wrist. 

“Let go, let go, fucking let _go_ -” The other man is begging, and once upon a time Achilles would have taken a degree of delight in it, dug his fingers in harder and full on clawed into the other man’s eyes, but today he just settles for retreating. 

“Letting go is something you should’ve done when you had the chance,” Achilles murmurs as he pulls back ungracefully, collecting his limbs and drawing himself to his feet. The crowd around him is paid exactly no heed as he backs off, and as soon as he’s certain the man won’t try anything further he seeks out the charge who got him into this mess in the first place. 

The lad surges forth to meet him, an arm coming to cup his upper arm and a gaze laden with so many things - concern, awe, surprise, countless little strings of emotion Achilles isn’t sure he has the nuance to identify.  
“Are you- are you okay?” The words spill from Zagreus’ mouth with abandon, and once again Achilles is taken aback by his nature. 

“Are you?” Achilles returns, placing a dirtied palm on Zagreus’ shoulder, going to lead him away. Zagreus shakes his head, furrows his brow a bit, and follows Achilles’ wordless direction.

“Well, _I’m_ not the one who just got bowled over in a bar fight.” Zagreus huffs, letting himself be turned, coming to stand side by side with his bodyguard. His hand on Achilles’ bicep squeezes softly, not letting go despite the awkward bend it put in his wrist. “I’m sorry that happened.”

“I promise you I’m fine, lad, just doing my job. We should probably get out of here, though.” 

“Yeah, I’ll give you that. That’s one way to get me to come home,” Zagreus trails off with a chuckle as they weave through the crowd still eyeballing them. Still that grip remains on Achilles’ arm, and he can’t help but wonder why. Was it for Zagreus’ benefit, a grounding thing of sorts, or was it meant for Achilles? 

“I just wish you’d let me accompany you. I know your father doesn’t want you places like this, but I also know I can’t stop you. At least if I’m here I can keep an eye on you and stop things like that happening.” He’s not sure how much more of Zagreus’ promiscuous nature he could bear to witness, mind. Hearing him occasionally getting railed back at the apartment or spotting him grinding up against a pretty stranger at a distance after finding him was bad enough as it was. Achilles might actually lose his mind if he had to be subjected to that any more frequently. 

“I… Can’t let that happen. I’m sorry.” And with that, the pressure and warmth of Zagreus’ grasp fades, slipping away in much the same way his voice slips into something softly sombre. 

“I know. Won’t stop me from asking again, though,” Achilles replies simply, in earnest. 

He tries not to think about how he wishes Zagreus would wrap his hand back around his arm.

-

(Zagreus tries not to think about how he wishes he could get his hands on Achilles’ biceps again.

Some part of him wishes that the buzz of the drink he’d consumed earlier that night was still weighing upon him. An excuse for when he thinks back on this later. Everyone’s been weirdly into someone they shouldn’t be whilst drunk, right? 

Except he’d be lying to himself if he said it was _just_ whilst he was drunk. 

He breaks his own thoughts with an exasperated groan, throwing an arm over his eyes with such force it bounced him upon the mattress he laid upon. Images flickered behind his eyelids once more; the easy way with which Achilles moved during his spat, the force with which he laid blows of his palm. A perfect exhibition of the strength in his upper body, the mere thought of which made Zagreus’ shiver. 

Like the goddamn traitor it is his brain of course supplies the memories of being far too close for comfort with Achilles when he taught him how to handle a gun, the feeling of those muscled arms blocking him in from behind, of calloused hands around his wrists showing him how to keep his arms suitably slack. Gods, he wants those hands around his wrists under different circumstances, pinning his arms up over his head, pinning him to a wall, lips and tongue pressed to his neck. 

Sure, Zagreus could break out again. He has a hundred and one contacts in his phone who’d be down to fuck these thoughts out of his brain - but then again, who was he kidding. There’s no way he wouldn’t picture Achilles the entire time.

Zagreus has done it before, and he’ll probably do it again. 

Unconsciously a hand comes to cup his half stirring cock through his jeans, and he shivers lightly at his own touch. As much as he loves being roughly taken apart and fucked with no mercy, and as much as he’d like Achilles to use the strength he’s seen, he’s _felt_ , upon him, he can’t bring himself to picture it. Even when Achilles is frustrated at him (and he’s only ever frustrated - he’s never seen it tip over into actual rage, he doesn’t think) he’s still devastatingly _gentle_ , expressing it as disappointment instead of anger. 

Returning to thinking about being pinned beneath Achilles, he thinks about his hands. They’re so big, so broad; Achilles could probably pin both of his hands with one. Then his other hand would be free to touch Zagreus as he wanted. Where would Achilles touch him, he wondered - would he grab his waist? Skirt a hand up his shirt in search of a nipple? Would he cup Zagreus’ face and kiss him, or would he loop a hand around, grab his ass, and _grind_ -

Fuck this, he’s getting out of these pants. 

Zagreus makes quick work of his jeans, shucking them and discarding them haphazardly over the side of his bed onto the floor to be thought about later, and then without a second thought he gives the same treatment to his underwear. 

Immediately his hand finds his cock, and his brain skips ahead through his fantasy, positions shifting and changing so he’s instead straddling Achilles’ lap. Oh gods, what if he were bare whilst Achilles was still clothed, leather jacket and all - cock pulled through the opening in his pants for Zagreus to bounce upon. Fuck, that has him squeezing down on his shaft, a choked little noise escaping him. 

He wants Achilles to say _things_ to him. That voice is so smooth and rich, and Zagreus knows first hand how husky he can sound first thing in the morning - and suddenly the Achilles of his mind is mouthing at his ear, lips and tongue on his earlobe and breath against the shell. “That’s it,” he’s murmuring, “that’s it” and “you take it so well, you feel so good” and “good lad” and oh if that last thought doesn’t make his hips jump into his hand, voice winding higher.

“Please,” he’s whining in the real world, “please please please,” a mantra of filth as he jerks himself off faster. Part of him wants to fill himself with a toy, bounce upon it like he wishes he was Achilles’ cock, but that would involve stopping and finding a toy and fingering himself open and he simply doesn’t have it in him to interrupt himself. 

The hand not around his cock snakes up his body, palming at his chest and the column of his throat before his fingertips brush his lips - and oh gods he wants Achilles’ fingers in his mouth so fucking bad. Wants him to watch intently as Zagreus hollows his cheeks and _sucks_ , wants him to curse at the scandal of it all before offering a warm smile. Zagreus can picture it so well, the way the wrinkles under his eyes deepen just so when he’s treated to a little grin, and that coupled with the idea of Achilles praising him - again - has him swearing. 

Pressing his thumb into the leaking head of his cock, Zagreus muffles a cry by gagging himself on his fingers. There’s a distinct irony here as he tries to fight his voice down for the benefit of the man he’s currently fantasising about. Some dumb lust addled part of his brain wonders what Achilles thought of the time he was walked in on, what he thinks of when Zagreus is fucked so brainless he can’t hold his voice down any longer. 

His brain continues to skip freely as he pumps his dick, dribbling so much at this point it _squelches_. He wants Achilles to suck hickeys into his thighs, he thinks, pictures him on his knees between Zagreus’ spread legs, slowly kissing everywhere except exactly where he wants it most. Wants Achilles to loom over him as he drives into him, practically buried under those broad shoulders and caged in by the muscles in his arms. 

He wants- 

_He wants-_

And then he’s coming, back arching hard and jaw clenching down on the drool wettened fingers still pressed between his teeth as he continues to stroke himself through it, streaks of cum coming to stain his shirt. That’s something to worry about later, though, and he feels more sated than he has in weeks as he comes down from his orgasm. 

Well, fuck.)

-

“Sir, a question. Why do you call me lad?” 

The question is poised casually as Zagreus plops his plate on the bar with a clink, hooking a foot around the stool next to where Achilles is sat and pulling it out like that. Achilles meets his gaze over the deep drink of coffee he’s currently taking, blonde eyebrows furrowing just a smidge at the question. 

“I’m not really sure I have much of an answer to that. It’s just a term of familiarity. I’m much too old to pull off something like ‘man’. ’Boy’ feels patronising, and I’ve noticed how you tense up when called that,” Achilles muses, watching as Zagreus takes his seat and takes to attacking his toast. 

“No thanks to my father,” Zagreus snorts, chewing with a vitriol that wasn’t entirely unwarranted. He glances back up toward Achilles and finds him still carefully watching him, mug gently cradled in those big hands. 

“I figured. Why do you ask? Does it make you uncomfortable?” 

“No! No, not at all. It’s just not a term you hear often here.” Achilles still doesn’t turn his attention to whatever it is he’s got open on his laptop but does muster a small smile, raising his mug to his lips once again but this time taking a short sip. Whatever it is looks like some kind of article, although he has his text size set so tiny Zagreus can’t make out what it’s about from here. 

“Ah, I see. I guess I bring a bit of home with me in my verbiage.” And then once more that smile slips away, his gaze falling back to whatever it is he’s reading. 

It’s an opening, and Zagreus is feeling curious. 

“Another question, if you don’t mind me asking. Where is home? Where do you come from? I know neither of us are local to _here_ , that’s for sure,” Zagreus tries his luck, throwing it out there before hiding behind a bite of his toast. Immediately Achilles’ eyes dart to him, and there’s something in them he can’t quite identify. He looks almost wild, like something primal and otherworldly, and all at once Zagreus is uncomfortably aware of just how intimidating Achilles can be. 

He tenses.

He’s fucked up. 

Only he hasn’t, he hasn’t at all, he immediately realises as Achilles lets out a world-weary sigh. 

“I don’t have much of an answer to that either I’m afraid, lad. I’ve moved around a lot in my life. Lived a lot of ways. The closest thing I have to home I don’t think really wants to hear from me. I try not to think about it,” He seems to think aloud, hunching back in on himself for a moment before lurching back out. “I’m sorry for dumping that on you. Please don’t… Think about it either. I’m sorry for that, that wasn’t very professional of me.” 

Achilles presses his lips into a fine line before leaning into his laptop, eyes furiously scanning the screen, and Zagreus’ chest aches. 

“It’s okay, sir. My home doesn’t particularly want to hear from me either. And I’ve never been one for professionalism.” 

_Hah, professionalism,_ Achilles finds himself thinking. He’s a fucking joke of a professional, that’s for sure. He’s just a bodyguard, he’s supposed to keep his distance and keep his charge out of trouble, but here he is sharing things he shouldn’t be sharing and feeling things he shouldn’t be feeling. What a mess. 

“Hopefully we’ll both end up somewhere better eventually. Get what we want, or at least what we deserve,” Achilles replies somewhat uneasily, forcing the tension out of his shoulders, as if he hasn’t been pushing down what he _wants_ for weeks at this point. 

Add ‘things he shouldn’t be wanting’ to the ‘things he shouldn’t be’ list. Try not to think about how all those things revolve around the man currently sitting less than two feet away and licking butter off his fingers in a mindless fashion. Try not to commit that image to memory so he can’t think about it for weeks. 

Gods, how has he even kept this job this long?

-

The leather of Achilles’ jacket crinkles audibly as he dismounts his motorcycle.

He’d luckily managed to catch Zagreus on the way out and had trailed him as he’d gotten into an unfamiliar car. _Especially_ luckily given that this wasn’t somewhere Zagreus had come before; at first he’d thought he was hitting up the stadium (whilst he usually hit up the matinee races, he’d also on occasion make a night of the full price events), but as they passed it he was struck by an intense curiosity. 

Usually Zagreus’ adventures took him _into_ the city, not out of it and into some gritty suburb. 

Unfortunately he’d lost sight of Zagreus as he and his accomplice disappeared down a small road to the side of some long since boarded up houses, abandoned and condemned by time. There was something distinctly foreboding about this, and Achilles wishes Zagreus really _was_ just heading to the stadium to get high and place some bets and slut it up a bit. 

Rounding the same corner Zagreus had before, Achilles tries to shake off the sinking feeling in his gut. Once upon a time settings like this were the hastily painted backdrops to parts of his history he’s not particularly proud of, and he’s undeniably anxious for… Whatever it was Zagreus could possibly be doing out here. 

He prays it’s just a house party in the road behind. 

He knows it’s not.

A set of haphazardly thrown up temporary metal fencing with an obvious gap in it blocks off an alleyway which leads down along the backs of the buildings he’s just come around, and it doesn’t take a genius to work out that’s probably where they’ve gone. Cracking it open a little further, Achilles slips through, before practically darting up the alleyway with a renewed sense of urgency. 

A deep-seated sense of self hatred settles in him at how natural it feels clambering through panelling over a door broken by someone long before him. It feels horribly normal to be standing in this old kitchen, illuminating the junk on the floor and the graffiti scrawled on the walls with the torch on his phone, and the kitchens and the living rooms and the bedrooms of all the other houses he’s so far investigated. 

Maybe Zagreus really isn’t here. Maybe he really is at a house party in the road behind- 

And then he hears voices from elsewhere in the building. 

And yup, he knows that familiar low tone. 

And it’s dawning on him he’s not entirely sure what to do in this situation. 

And then in trying to navigate back outside, to gather himself and work out what to do, he missteps, sending some panelling previously propped up against a counter sliding to the floor with a crash. 

And then the voices stop, and he can hear movement, and he’s fighting the urge to drag his gun out of his inside pocket and cock it. The last thing he wants to do is provoke a violent response.

 _Fuck._

Achilles calls his intentions out into the dark, body tense as he steps toward the doorway. “I’m not the police, and I mean you no harm. I don’t want to make a scene.”

The figure of a young man lurches out of the darkness and around the corner, narrowly missing colliding with Achilles. He looks irate, scared, confused; he brandishes a pipe that’s presumably been pulled from a pile of rubble somewhere within the building. Instinctively, Achilles throws his hands up, praying to the gods he can get himself out of this. 

“I mean you no harm.” 

“Why the fuck are you here? How did you know we were here?” He questions, and Achilles knows he needs to be careful with his words here. If he lets on too much, he puts Zagreus in danger, and if he’s too vague he’s not sure he’s going to be able to fend off the man in front of him. 

“I didn’t. It was a lucky guess.” Not a lie, he’d had to poke through multiple houses along this row before he got it right. “Just looking out for one of the lads you’ve got with you.” 

“Oh, what, whatsisface, Zagreus? It’s Zagreus you’re looking for?” The boy questions, and Achilles recognises the edge in his face and the glaze in his eyes; he’s high as a kite, which puts a dangerous spin on all this. He swallows.

“That’s him-”

“He’s a fucking narc!” He cries out, and shouts and shuffling break out from the next room.

This is going to go south so fast. 

In a burst of motion Achilles shoves past the man in front of him, following his ear as he darts through the house, skipping over piles of junk on the floor. Urgency boils in his chest; he can’t let them hurt Zagreus, he _won’t_. Self loathing sits at the corners of his mind - he thought he’d lost his reckless streak with age, but no - but that boundless fear stops it from spilling over, manifesting in him fumbling through his inner pocket, fingers just shy of the grip of his gun when- 

He’s impeded in his attempt as someone else emerges out of another room, flinging himself at Achilles. Achilles steps out of the way with a practiced ease, and then is sent stumbling sidewards, upper arm blossoming with the pain of blunt force impact. He hisses out with pain, trying to get his bearing - and then the world slips out from under him and his back collides with a filth spattered floor, blows raining down upon him from above. 

Crying out in pain, Achilles attempts to block them off with one hand as the other returns to the inside pocket of his jacket. There’s hands reaching for his face and one of them kicks at his ribs and there’s another hand trying to force his hand back out of his jacket and he’s yelling whatever plea for mercy he can wrap his lips around - “I don’t want to hurt you, I’m not the police, please, this is a mistake-”

A gunshot rings out, and is followed by simultaneously the longest and shortest instant of silence Achilles has ever bore witness to. 

He doesn’t have time to appreciate how beautiful the silence is amidst the sounds of everything, however, as one of his attackers starts screaming, recoiling and grasping at a bloody shoulder. On instinct his body automatically capitalises on it, using the surprise to shove off the pained man and scramble to his feet. As he looks up, his gaze locks with that of an extremely shocked looking Zagreus, who’s quickly moving in toward him.

Well, he finally got his head around the idea of keeping his arms loose when aiming. 

Zagreus lets his left hand fall away from the gun so as to grab at Achilles’ wrist, pulling him entirely to his feet, and Achilles wishes he could hear how his name sounded on Zagreus’ lips in that instance over the blood rushing in his ears. 

And then the moment is broken by more bodies filling the hallway, and he’s not sure whether he or Zagreus were the one to drag them out of there at a run.

-

“I shot someone. I… Shot someone.”

“I’ve done far worse! We’ve got to keep moving!”

-

The airing cupboard they’d found in another house along the row and deemed a worthy hiding place was extremely small and not a great solution, but it was better than nothing with the back alley back out to the main road and Achilles’ motorcycle being guarded over. Not worth the risk of Zagreus facing some actual major harm, especially after escaping from the initial scuffle without a scratch. 

_Especially_ with the lad high off of whatever it was they were taking. 

“I shot someone,” He murmured again, slumped against the wall, illuminated by the pitiful glow of Achilles’ phone. He’d turn it off if he heard someone, but he was fairly confident it was just a case of waiting it out; the sun would be starting to come up within the hour, and the coast would basically definitely be clear by then. 

“I’m grateful for it, lad. You saved my life. It’s probably not going to kill him, you didn’t hit anything too vital. You did good,” Achilles offers, unable to read what exactly was going on in Zagreus’ tone. He’s spacey, eyes a little wild, and Achilles isn’t sure how to broach the topic of asking what on earth he took. The sigh he breathes in comes with a nice side of pain shooting through his ribs, and he instinctively winces. 

Zagreus face scrunches a little, and a wavering hand reaches out. At first it seems to dance with the thought of touching Achilles’ ribs, but then instead settles for resting upon his bicep, something Achilles is quietly glad about. A squeeze is gently administered through the leather, and then Zagreus lets out a shaky breath. “They hurt you.” 

It’s a quiet admission, and they both catch what goes unsaid. 

“I’ve been through worse. This wasn’t your brightest move, far from it, but you didn’t know it was going to go this way. It’s just my job, and I’d go through worst if I had to,” Achilles offers in consolation, watching the way Zagreus’ face straightened out, his eyes seemingly searching Achilles’ for something, still oh so difficult to read as clouded with his high as they are. 

The hum he’s given in reply is just as esoteric, and something about it combined with the adrenaline still racing through his system makes Achilles feel unsettled, just a smidge. Usually Zagreus was fairly easy to gauge, as respectful and (relatively, in comparison to how he got whilst running rampant) reserved as he was around Achilles. 

He wonders if he’d have been better off trying to fight the bastards guarding the alleyway. 

Then he shifts ever so slightly in just the right way, and it feels like his ribcage is being torn apart.

“Do you mind letting go of my arm for just a moment? I need to take my jacket off. You can put it back after, if you want.” Zagreus mutters a small “sure” in reply and retracts his hands so Achilles can begin the arduous task of peeling the leather off of him whilst wondering what on earth made him actually vocalise that second thought, occasionally wincing as he aggravates his injuries. He’s not sure whether his ribs are broken or just deeply bruised, but gods do they hurt. Before he can stash it on the same shelf his phone is balanced in, he takes a second to retrieve the gun and stuff it in the thigh pocket of his cargo pants; he simply feels more comfortable with it upon his person. 

The second the jacket is stuffed into place, Zagreus immediately replaces his hand upon Achilles’ bare bicep. His skin runs hot, hotter than it should be, and his palm is clammy to the point of tackiness. By all means it should be unpleasant, but something about it is stabilising.

In unwittingly drawing a sigh of contentment, however, once again that fucking pain pierces his senses. Zagreus’ mouth falls open, eyes widening a little at his sound of pain, and Achilles guiltily stows the expression away in his memory. 

Drawing the hand of the arm Zagreus isn’t currently running little circles into with his thumb across his body (and gods grant Achilles mercy, the show of - familiarity? Comfort? Something else entirely? - is almost too much), Achilles tentatively sneaks his touch up under his shirt, feeling out over his ribs. Zagreus flexes his hand on his bicep, letting out a heavy breath through his nose - his ribs must be a state. He strains, casting his gaze downwards to try and observe the damage in the poor lighting; he’s bruised to high hell but as he dances his fingers over his ribcage, but nothing screams ‘fracture’ to him. 

That’s good. 

Then there’s a light touch brushing over his opposite hip, and _oh_ that’s not so good. 

His gaze darts up to Zagreus’ face with a jolt, who’s own focus is intently on where Achilles has his shirt hiked up, brushing his fingertips over the ridge of Achilles hipbone so tenderly, so _gently_ , that Achilles heart is in his throat for the umpteenth time that evening. With his head bowed as it was, trying to check out his own ribs, their faces are too close for comfort- 

And then Zagreus meets his eye, and offers him a mischievous little smile, and yup he should’ve taken his chances, should’ve tried to fight out of here, this is the most divine punishment that’s ever been laden upon him. 

“I- don’t think that my hip is bruised,” Achilles sputters lamely. He should drop his shirt, he should straighten his back, he should move as far away from Zagreus as he can in the confines of this cupboard, but turns out he pays as much attention to his ‘list of should dos’ as he does his ‘list of shouldn’t dos’. Achilles is a mess of an unprofessional, and he swallows hard as Zagreus lets out a little “heh”, so close to his face he could feel his breath on his cheek. 

That’s when Zagreus chooses to drop his bombshell. 

“Doesn’t mean it couldn’t be. I bet it’d look nice with some lovebites.” 

Oh. _Oh._ He doesn’t mean that, Achilles desperately thinks. It’s just the drugs he’s taken, and the adrenaline, and the confined space. Yet as Zagreus trails the hand on his bicep up, up, over his shoulder, across to the column on his neck, as his other touch first ghosts over his exposed waist and then _grasps_ , pulling them closer, all he can do is blanch, frozen in place. 

He shouldn’t be doing this. 

But then Zagreus is speaking again and he feels like he’s going to melt through the floor. 

“Do you know how often I’ve thought of getting my hands on you like this? How often I’ve dreamed of you taking me?” Zagreus voice drops somewhere so gravelly, hand coming to cup Achilles pectoral through his bunched up shirt, and Achilles can’t suppress the way he hisses through his teeth. This is definitely some sort of cruel punishment for everything he’s done. 

“You… Don’t mean that. _Can’t_ mean that. It’s just the drugs,” Achilles justifies, simultaneously contradicting his words as he finally retracts the hand from his ribs, placing it on Zagreus’ shoulder as he squeezes his eyes shut. The hand on his waist snakes further around, dipping and coming to squeeze Achilles’ ass, and he can’t help the pitiful little sound that parts his lips. Gods he wants this, he wants this so bad. 

He prays to whatever deity may hear him that Zagreus doesn’t notice his half-hard cock. 

“Do you even believe your words? Saying that and then touching me anyway…” Achilles feels, hears, Zagreus step in closer, chest to chest and lips at his ear, and he thinks that’s enough to do him in before Zagreus breathes those last few words into his ear. 

“I know you want this.” 

Oh, to high hell with professionalism, and to high hell with Achilles himself.

Achilles gasps out in response, fingers curling against Zagreus’ shoulder, and Zagreus has the _nerve_ to hum a chuckle, low and filthy, against the shell of his ear before pulling back. The hand kneading at his chest finds the peak of a nipple and catches it between two of his fingers, hand shifting so he could roll it between his fingertips. The breath against his ear retreats, and for a moment Achilles considers opening his eyes - and then there’s a nose brushing against his, and Zagreus’ browbone rests against the bridge of his nose. 

The realisation that Zagreus must be on his tiptoes punches the air out of his lungs, and the arousal burning his stomach counteracts the way he goes to flinch at the pain. 

“You’re so much bigger than me, Sir. All this strength - you could so easily pin me down. I want that so bad,” And gods Achilles can feel the warmth of Zagreus’ words against his lips. There’s no hesitation as he shakily raises the arm currently hanging useless by his side, looping it around Zagreus’ shoulder. Then there’s hips ground up against him and he can feel Zagreus’ cock against the top of his thigh as he pulls them flush, moaning so prettily as he arches his back ever so slightly. 

“I- lad, I won’t fuck you. Not here, not now, not like this,” Achilles gasps out, squeezing his eyes tighter shut, as if that somehow makes all of this less obscene. Zagreus hums in thought, abandoning Achilles’ ass in favour of tracing far too lightly over the small of Achilles’ back, and _fuck_ that shouldn’t feel as good as it does and Achilles’ hips stutter, bumping against Zagreus. 

“So you’re saying you’d fuck me elsewhere, under different circumstances? Because I want that so bad, Sir. I want you to ravage me,” He breathes, before pushing Achilles back with the hand on his chest, the other coming back down to cup his hip once more. The choked sound that escapes Achilles as he makes contact with the wall he refuses to register as his own, let alone the words that twist into it-

“Yes- Gods, yes.”

Oh he’s so fucked, he’s so unbelievably screwed, and he’s getting more screwed by the second as Zagreus works a thigh between his, trails fingers up under his shirt to touch his stomach where it’s sandwiched between them. Somehow he works up the courage to slide open his eyelids - and Zagreus’ gaze is _buring_ into him, those mismatched eyes swamped with longing. 

Achilles wants to _kiss him-_

And then the alarm on his phone goes off. 

The noise seems to snap Zagreus into it, who immediately backs off, chest still heaving. 

“Sun’s up,” Achilles murmurs.

“And just when you were really getting into it,” Zagreus drawls. 

-

They don’t talk about it. 

It’s easy to slip back into the normal routines like nothing ever happened. They cohabitate, they eat together, Zagreus is as polite as ever, and sometimes he escapes and Achilles has to go track him down. Like clockwork. 

Like now, when Achilles has emerged from cleaning the bathroom to catch Zagreus red handed, hand literally on the handle of the front door. 

Both freeze, and essentially stare one another down, before Achilles crosses the room in a couple smooth steps. 

“Were you planning on heading out, then?”

“Err, yeah. You could put it that way,” Zagreus points out awkwardly, clearing his throat. This didn’t usually happen; the last time Achilles had caught him literally in the process of leaving he’d bolted. For some reason that instinct was absent this time, and slowly he withdraws his grip from the door, turning back to face Achilles. 

“Nothing unusual there, then. Anything nice planned?” Achilles asks, and the odd casualness of it burns Zagreus’ chest with the fear he knew exactly what was about to be brought up. 

“Oh, you know. Just meeting a girl for drinks, and what have you.” Zagreus can’t match Achilles’ casualness, instead coming off as odd and awkward, and Achilles arches an eyebrow. Gods, that’s the _worst_. He feels completely and utterly seen through, left stripped bare. 

“‘What have you’, is that what the kids call having sex these days?” Achilles chortles with a small smile, and it leaves Zagreus with an odd mix of discomfort and warmth. He’s just going to call it out, and in a bold move to accentuate his words, he steps forward, coming into Achilles’ space. 

“You’re trying to ask me about what went down a few weeks ago,” He states. It’s not a question, and Achilles’ eyes widen just a smidge as he processes it. Always so perceptive, Zagreus is, perceptive and not afraid to act upon it. 

“You’re exactly on the mark, yes.” 

“I may have been high as a kite, Achilles, but I was speaking my truth.” The use of his name for once in his life combined with the way Zagreus averted his gaze - he really was simply too much. Stepping in, Achilles decided to break both the touch barrier and all pretense of professionalism, placing a hand upon Zagreus' shoulder. 

Too late to go back. 

“If I may be so bold la-Zagreus,” Achilles corrects himself in order to return the name, swallowing a little, “you don’t need to leave the house to have a good time.” Zagreus’ eyes widen, and he raises his hands uselessly, before letting them flop limply. 

“Wait - before I do something embarrassing - you are propositioning me, right? Because in that case, the answer is yes, of course,” Zagreus blurts, mouth dry with the mere thought. Achilles laughs and moves in with a certain ease, the hand on Zagreus’ shoulder coming to cup his jaw, and with a degree of unconsciousness he nuzzles in.

“Yes. I do have a question, though. Can I kiss you?”

‘What a fucking romantic’ are Zagreus’ exact thoughts as he loops an arm up and around Achilles’ shoulders, gently raising himself up onto the balls of his feet so as to press their lips together. The smile which graces Achilles lips is unavoidable, and then - _oh_ , there’s a gentle press of tongue against his lips. One arm comes to cradle Zagreus’ back, leading him back to rest against the wall next to the door - gentle, gentle. He gives into Zagreus’ game, mouth opening to deepen their kiss. 

Zagreus’ other hand comes to grab at his waist, pushing up under his shirt to trail fingers over the muscle in Achilles’ sides - and oh, apparently that’s just a thing he likes doing. It’s undeniably hot, being felt up like this, Zagreus trailing worship and promises of more with the skirting pads of his fingertips. 

They kiss for a long moment, turning sloppy and messy, the occasional click of teeth audible, and the headiness of it all is really getting to Achilles. He lets out little sounds of approval, sparks of heat flicking down his spine with every electric brush of their tongues, with every new inch of skin Zagreus’ wandering hands map out. 

It’s Achilles’ executive decision to finally break their kiss with a smack, and before Zagreus has time to even really register what’s happening Achilles uses the hand on his cheek to guide his head back, exposing the flesh of his throat. 

Zagreus fucking _keens_ as Achilles litters open mouthed kisses down his neck, before licking a stripe back up. A smattering of kisses over his jaw, the slight threat of teeth below his ear - and that has Zagreus making a pathetic little sound, back arching up against Achilles.

“Gods, mark me,” He hisses, and that’s all the persuasion Achilles needed, giving a long, hard suck to a spot at the base of his throat, before scraping his teeth over the rapidly bruising flesh in the opposite of an apology. The arm previously slung around Achilles’ neck retreated back to claw at Achilles’ shoulder, and in one swift move Achilles scooped it up with the hand he was using to brace them against the wall before pinning it just over Zagreus’ head.

With a whine Zagreus arches his hips. It was just a little show, a little tease - but Achilles remembered his words from before, and that thought makes him suck a breath between his teeth, heat pooling under his skin. It’s kind of embarrassing, losing his fucking mind over something so inconsequential - but gods. 

Achilles sucks one more mark into Zagreus’ neck before pulling back, but not before laving it with a little farewell kiss. He steps back for just a minute, releasing the hand he’s got pressed into the wall, and Zagreus wants to let out an indignant noise - before realising Achilles is unbuttoning his shirt. 

“You seem to have a real thing for touching me up, so I thought I’d let you do that unimpeded,” Achilles explains as he goes, explicitly aware of how Zagreus’ eyes drag over his flesh as it’s exposed. 

“For a guy who’s dirty talk really isn’t great, I’m not sure how your words are still turning me on.” 

“Maybe I’ll brush up,” Achilles cuts out a low chuckle, slipping his shirt from his shoulders - before with nowhere else to discard it, simply tossing it across the room to be dealt with later. He almost wants to shrink under Zagreus’ gaze - he knows he’s still muscular by all means, but he’s not as lean as he was in his youth. However Zagreus looks at him with a hunger he’s not known in a long time, and he’s melting long before Zagreus returns his palms to his abdomen, a thumb resting in the crest of his hipbone in an arousing throwback. 

“No need. You’re already plenty hot enough,” Zagreus murmurs appreciatively, face dipping to press little kisses along the slouch of Achilles’ shoulder. The odd reverence Zagreus places upon him - the way his hands continue to sketch and skitter, fingers curling here, thumb tracing a pattern there - sends shivers down his spine, and he lets out a long, low moan when Zagreus’ fingers skate over his lower back, feather light. 

“You like having your lower back touched, huh? Thats… Cute.” 

The unusual complement combined with the feathery strokes along his back makes Achilles buck his hips against nothing, desperate for something, anything - and in one smooth movement he pins Zagreus to the wall, a hand in each palm, and Zagreus damn well cries out. 

“Fuck, that’s - yes - wait,” Zagreus gasps out, voice stretched thin with desire, and Achilles gives him a questioning look. “Listen, can you… Pin both of my hands in one of yours? It’s something I’ve thought about before and-” 

“Like this?” easily Achilles positions Zagreus’ hands together, before his left hand comes to grasp both of his thumbs, holding them in place. Zagreus looks like he’s about to fucking short circuit, slack jawed and gaze heated. 

“Holy shit, yes, that’s perfect,” he chokes out, and Achilles can’t resist the urge to kiss him again. His free hand brushes down over Zagreus’ clothed torso, and he silently wishes he’d gotten him out of his shirt when he had the chance. Zagreus’ hips arch furiously, desperately, and in the only move he can think of to do Achilles presses a thigh between his legs, grinding it long and hard and purposefully against Zagreus’ cock. 

The moan Zagreus loses into his open mouth is dizzying. He’s so wanton, body drawn tight in an arch of sin, back arching in order to better grind his cock into Achilles’ thigh. Achilles has wanted him so long, wanted to pin him down and ravage him - and yet here he was wanting to see Zagreus ruining himself, fully clothed, rutting against his thigh. 

Maybe he should return the favour and voice this. Their kiss is broken with a gasp (from who? Achilles wasn’t sure), and then Achilles presses their foreheads together in an all too familiar gesture. 

Zagreus’ eyes are half lidded, and he’s moaning with every pant, hips squirming frantically. Fucking hell. 

“How close are you? Do you think we could get you to ruin your pants?” 

Despite his aforementioned lack of skill, Zagreus’ eyes immediately widen, back arching with a hard grind. His jaw remains slack, mouth open. The urge to place his thumb between Zagreus’ lips is immense, so immense in fact that he does it, pressing the pad against the wet velvet surface. Immediately Zagreus’ eyes roll back, and he muffles out a swear and an affirmative around the digit in his mouth. He’s not done though, oh no, because those glazed over eyes seek out Achilles’ gaze, looking deeply into him before he closes his lips, hollows his cheeks, and _sucks _\- and Achilles is going to lose his fucking mind at this rate.__

__Leaning in heavier, Achilles offers a long, hard _grind_ of the length of his thigh, carefully working Zagreus’ cock up and down with the pressure. Zagreus continues to writhe, humping Achilles’ thigh with renewed veracity as he drools around the calloused thumb in his mouth. _ _

__All these times Achilles had fantasised about fucking Zagreus he’d never imagined this, reducing him to a mess so needy he’d be content to grind up against a thigh, still clothed. There was a certain depravity to this, a certain thrill._ _

__Gods, he’d be jerking off to the memory of this for weeks._ _

__The previous long grinds of Zagreus’ hips had placated into short, staccato thrusts to match the heated urgency in his voice, and he could feel the muscles of his inner thighs twitching where they gripped either side of his. It was a fair wager that Zagreus was incredibly, incredibly close - the only thing to do now was to push him over the edge._ _

__“Are you going to come, Zagreus? Ruin yourself for me?” He withdrew his thumb from it’s home within Zagreus’ mouth, painting his cheek with drool. Zagreus nods desperately, giving a particularly long thrust of his hips._ _

__“Mmn- Sir, sir, I’m so close-”_ _

__Gods, Achilles wants to hear his name in that high drawn, heady voice._ _

__“Say my name?”_ _

__“Achilles- Achilles, please!” And fuck if that wasn’t the hottest thing Achilles had ever heard, he doesn’t know what is._ _

__“Good lad.”_ _

__Apparently that does it for him - and gods, how Achilles wants to investigate that further - because he stiffens with a cry, continuing to rut up against Achilles’ thigh for the duration of his orgasm. Words fall from his mouth, mostly a combination of Achilles’ name and a myriad of curses, and it’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard, let alone seen. Fuck._ _

__Gently Achilles’ arms come to wrap about Zagreus’ waist, and Zagreus’ arms come to limply hold onto his shoulders as he shivers through the aftershocks, breath coming heavy and body boneless. Simultaneously Achilles feels Zagreus’ exhaustion, but also the desire to come _so fucking bad_ it’s unreal. _ _

__However Zagreus is forever full of surprises, with his first coherent words jolting Achilles to the core._ _

__“Let me suck your cock?”_ _

__And that’s how Achilles ends up on their couch, dick straining so hard it’s dribbling, stripped completely bare with a still clothed Zagreus knelt on the floor between his knees. The no doubt rapidly cooling come in his underwear didn’t seem to phase Zagreus, and some part of Achilles wondered if he’d ever escorted him home from one of his escapades in a similar state._ _

__His cock twitches at that._ _

__“Next time I want your dick in my ass, but that was so hot I can’t really fault you,” Zagreus murmurs as he wraps a hand about the shaft, fingers carefully sliding back the foreskin as his thumb comes to drag through the pre come, and the words hit Achilles like a jolt of lightning. ‘Next time’. For a split second the threat of Hades looms over him - oh, he is so _fucked_ someday - and then there’s a curious tongue against his slit, first applied as a flat broad lick, and then the tip flutters and curls around it, and any coherent thought Achilles may have had is long, long out of the window. _ _

__“Fuck,” He gasps out, and then Zagreus is shuffling forward on his knees, head tilting so he can smatter little open mouthed kisses along the bottom of his shaft. Suddenly his eyes seem to light with a certain idea, and he pulls back._ _

__“Hang on, hang on - I just remembered something I want to do,” Achilles nods an affirmative, curious but still aroused. When Zagreus pulls himself up a little higher, pulling Achilles further down on the couch so his lower body is flat, he puts two and two together - just in time for Zagreus to gently graze his teeth against the ridge of his hip. _Holy fuck._ _ _

__“Hip hickeys?” Achilles manages in a hushed breath, and he _feels_ the way Zagreus smiles against his skin. This man really was too much in the best way possible, and then he feels the curious feeling of wet suction and pressure along his hip. It’s the thought more than the actual sensation that gets him riled up, and he lets out an appreciative little sigh when Zagreus pulls back, revealing his work. _ _

__“That’s, er, actually surprisingly difficult to do,” Zagreus comments, scoring a small, sharp laugh from Achilles. Jackpot. “Not like sucking cock. That’s easy.”_ _

__And then before Achilles can say anything, Zagreus has sunk back to his previous position, and sunk his mouth down his shaft all in one fluid motion. Achilles’ eyes roll back in his head and he lets out a scuffed noise, the roll of his hips thankfully stifled by Zagreus’ attentive hands pinning his hips down._ _

__Despite Zagreus’ apparent thing for Achilles’ strength, he’s no weakling himself, and the way his arm muscles effortlessly ripple to contain Achilles’ unintentional thrusts is hotter than it has any right to be._ _

__Pulling back off, Zagreus takes to kissing the head once more, rolling his lips over the ridge of the head, pressing the foreskin back and forth with the rolling of his tongue. It looks as amazing as it looks, with Zagreus intensely focused on his work, only when he rolls his eyes up to look at Achilles with the most half lidded, ridiculously lustful look he can muster, it sends a deep roll of heat low in his abdomen._ _

__“Fucking hell,” Achilles chokes out as Zagreus once more engulfs the head of his cock within that warm, silky hole - only this time when Achilles bucks it’s not so fruitless, Zagreus not bothering to pin him down._ _

__He doesn’t choke._ _

___He even musters a lewd little moan around where Achilles fucks his mouth._ _ _

__Too much. Well and truly too much._ _

__“Keep going, please, Zagreus,” He requests - he’s not begging, he’s _not_ \- and Zagreus gladly obliges. He moves up and down with a certain grace, hands off of Achilles hips and instead - working the base of his cock, coming to cup and massage his balls, tracing lightly over his inner thighs. Zagreus swallows every helpless little thrust into his mouth with ease, and Achilles has never been so glad to have the promise of a ‘next time’ made to him._ _

__He’s not sure what gives him away - the way his hips grow more frantic? The tightening of his balls? The way his stomach twitches and dances with his voice? - but Zagreus seems to know when he’s about to come, slipping Achilles’ cock out of his mouth. At first Achilles whines, worried that Zagreus is going to pull some kind of cruel bait and switch on him - and then it connects in his mind exactly what’s going to happen as Zagreus continues jerking, pointing the head of Achilles’ dick at the bridge of his nose._ _

__It doesn’t help that at the exact same moment the realisation materialises, Zagreus murmurs, “Do it, Achilles. Come on my face.”_ _

__Achilles isn’t exactly sure how loud he cries out as his entire body seems to be enveloped by ecstasy, forcing himself to keep his eyes open and focused on Zagreus’ face as he drags his cock down the length of it, joyfully allowing Achilles’ seed to spray on his nose, his cheeks, his open lips and tongue. _Holy fucking shit._ Zagreus works the last few pumps out of him with his cock pressed just so against his tongue, before closing his mouth and swallowing with a knowing smirk. _ _

__It takes Achilles a few moments to catch his breath, feeling thoroughly spread out and debauched. Zagreus at some point crawls up on the couch beside him, offering him a kiss; he’s still got Achilles’ come on his lips, and if Achilles weren’t so spent that fact would’ve stirred something within him._ _

__“That wasn’t very professional of me,” he laughs out, and Zagreus mirrors his tired chuckle as he pillows his head on Achilles’ shoulder. Achilles twists the best he can, wrapping an arm about Zagreus and pulling them into a slightly less uncomfortable position._ _

__“That’s just my influence, I think,” Zagreus murmurs, tracing aimless patterns against Achilles’ sternum with an index finger. There’s a wet slide against his shoulder as Zagreus nuzzles in, and it takes Achilles a second to recognise that the feeling is, in fact, his own come._ _

__“I’ll give you that one. I’ve not been very professional the entire time I’ve been around you. I let you get away with murder.”_ _

__Another tired laugh from Zagreus; another sleepy smile on Achilles’ face as Zagreus throws an arm across his waist, seeming all too eager to get closer._ _

__“I didn’t peg you for being cuddly after sex.”_ _

__“I’m not. You just do things to me.”_ _

__And Zagreus did something to him, with the way those words made his insides flutter._ _

**Author's Note:**

> shout out to zoe for encouraging me through this behemoth of a fic. this is the most ambitious thing i've ever created . it's 4am i'm so tired
> 
> come say hey to me on my socials!! i'm looking for hades mutuals so i'll probably follow back lmao
> 
> [personal twitter](https://twitter.com/heavywithhoping)  
> [18+ hades twitter](https://twitter.com/deathisalover)  
> [tumblr](https://heavywithhoping.tumblr.com)


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